8:108) chris abraham 02-FEB-98 8:50

come they told me pa rump pa pum pum the boat rocked like elvis. even in washington, the state means nothing to me. when i am stirred up, when i am frenzied i cannot easily consort with the boring, with the concerned. the miniblinds striate light thinking of the yellow morning on black faces, up turned. seeing the dc as cc, seeing the day as night. seeing lovers blush from touch, in the parks, when i never notice the noise around, never concern the people and their picnics and children, not a concern the riff raff in my periphery.

"the train leaves in an hour," she says as she reads from the schedule, "do you think we can make it?"

we were to rush to gretna green, nearby enough in scotland, the vegas of britain, to become wed by a scottish elvis, maybe in a gingerbread house; perhaps our nuptual bed would be 90% water and in the shape of a jelly donut.

"love, do we have enough time?" in my head, she was the brave, she willed me to decide, she needed me to make the call. she 19, me 21.

i remember words, "We were in Summer-heat, that Winter. Me, freshly free from another Dog-house stay on Valentine's day . . ."